A Year in Provence
by merciki
Summary: He arrives with the spring. How long will he stay ?


**Huge thanks to xerxia and dandelion-sunset for their beta skills :)**

 **And kudos to akai-echo for the gorgeous banner.**

 **Please do not hesitate to leave a comment. Going through a dry spell right now ...**

* * *

 **April.**

He arrives with the spring.

Loaded with two suitcases and a backpack, he walks the last few steps towards the door of the Everdeen B&B, in a daze, as if amazed by the tall plane trees lining the path from the iron gate, forming a canopy over his head.

He has that look on his face that most people have when they arrive. That she herself probably had when she first came here. Awestruck. Amazed by the beauty of the landscape that unfolds its lavender-covered hills until they hit the shore, where a tiny band of houses protects them from the sea.

She watches him walking slowly towards her door, taking in the long building that forms the guest house - large white bricks, newly painted light green shutters, ivy and wisteria climbing lazily up the walls until they reach the red tiles.

She pretends not to notice his blond hair shining in the evening sun.

Or how blue his eyes are when she opens the door.

 **May.**

He's a painter. He's a baker. He never takes sugar in his tea. He double-knots his shoelaces, a habit he picked up when he was younger that stayed with him.

He came to France to take a year off from his life, he tells her one day.

So he paints the trees swaying in the breeze, or the kids in the village, playing soccer.

Sometimes, he smiles.

 **June.**

He doesn't go out in the evenings. He just stays on the terrace, sketching and drinking wine.

He doesn't talk a lot to the other guests.

He's polite, but doesn't go beyond that.

One day, she asks him if he wants to go to the music festival in town.

He says yes. They sing and dance together, and later share wine and cheese on her terrace, talking until the night blends into day.

 **July.**

Tourists come and go.

He stays.

He bakes.

They talk.

They laugh.

 **August.**

Tourists come and go.

She has a lot to do.

He helps.

Sometimes in the evenings they go to the pool.

She pretends not to look at the way his hair curls when it's wet.

He pretends not to look too intently at her raven hair, or her silver eyes shining in the moonlight.

Mostly, he pretends he hasn't fallen head over heels for her.

 **September.**

She kisses him under the stars, on the terrace, as he tells her a memory of him and his brother having fun in the bakery.

She tastes like the sun and olives, like the moon and the stars, like the wine and cheese.

He's addicted.

 **October.**

Leaves fall from the trees, slowly, lazily. They crackle under the soles of their shoes as they walk hand-in-hand in the woods near the house. She laughs. It's music to his ears. He laughs. It's like the sun shines more brightly for her.

He's loud when she's quiet.

They make love. Slowly, lazily. Again and again.

She's loud when he's quiet.

 **November.**

It's cold and rainy and they love it. They curl by the fire, drinking hot chocolate.

He paints.  
She's fascinated that he can spend hours trying to capture a single drop of rain.

He paints her.

He's fascinated by the curves of her body, graceful yet so sensuous. He tries to capture her on paper.

He fails. So he tries again.

And again.

 **December.**

They agreed to not exchange presents.

He gives her a painting, of them sipping wine on the terrace in the early days of summer.

She gives him seeds of the plants he loves so much that he doesn't have in the United States.

They toast to the New Year on French time.

They're still making love when the year changes in America.

 **January.**

He wants to stop time. The year is nearly over, and soon, he'll have to face the reality of going back.

She doesn't say a word about it.

 **February.**

She wants to stop time. She knows his year is nearly over, and soon, she'll have to face the reality of him leaving.

They still don't talk about it.

He laughs less.

She smiles less.

 **March.**

He knows the date and time.

Twenty-seven days left.

They try to make the best out of what time they have left together.

They can't.

It's not enough.

It can never be enough.

They talk.

 **April.**

He stays.

* * *

Please do not hesitate to comment if you liked it or not. Going through a rather dry spell.


End file.
